Salvation
by starfish.dancer
Summary: He clutched at the ring, knowing he couldn't put it on and take on all it meant. Instead, he took her hand in his and slid the ring onto her finger." In the final hours at Hogwarts, two students come to terms with the scars left by the final battle.


Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot and a plethora of student loans.

Author Note the First: Written for the Last Night for Love Challenge, whose stipulations were a Draco/Hermione fiction in which Hermione cannot be valedictorian, Draco or Hermione must give a pep talk to anyone, the quotation "This is your/our/my/their last chance" must be used, Goyle must make a public proclamation, must be a minimum of 1000 words and three of the following 7th Year Superlatives must be used: Most Likely to End Up at St. Mungo's, Biggest Flirt, Next Minister of Magic, Most Changed, Most Likely to Succeed, Most Likely to be Featured in a Witch Weekly Scandal, Biggest Sorting Hat Mix Up and Most Likely to Play Professional Quidditch. It caught my eye (or perhaps the eye of my muse) and then of course wouldn't leave me alone...so for better or worse, here it is.

Author Note the Second: Feedback and constructive criticism is, as always, appreciated, cherished, devoured, invaluable, prized, treasured, welcome and any other synonyms that could possibly convey how happy they make me. And now, on with the show....

Salvation 

_My, how the mighty have fallen, _she thought sadly as she stood before the doors of the Great Hall. According to the article on this year's graduating class featured in the _Daily Prophet_ (thankfully under the new and better management of Nymphadora Tonks), she was the highest scoring student to leave Hogwarts since Dumbledore himself had graduated. She was bombarded with numerous owls every breakfast, all carrying various offers for study, jobs and internships across the Wizarding world. She was a survivor of what the media was calling the Near Apocalypse. She was Hermione Granger and she was incapable of walking through those doors.

She'd been standing in the same place for the past fifteen minutes. Every time she would manage to garner the courage to push her way in, the sound of voices inside, celebratory as they were, would set her heart racing and it would be all she could do not to turn on her heels and run. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and slowly released it as she willed herself to be composed.

"It's alright, Granger," she began. "You can do this. Just three small steps forward, then reach out and open the door. You're almost there."

She took a faltering step and opened her eyes as she took another. A shaking hand was raised as she took a third, finally resting it on the door handle. A burst of raucous laughter within caused her to start and pull her hand back as though burned. She jerked away so quickly that she stumbled, sprawling back hard onto the stone floor. Tears of frustration welled up in her eyes, and she cursed herself for her weakness.

"Damn it, Granger," she swore as a few tears stubbornly refused to be swallowed and instead escaped to trail down her cheeks. She swiped angrily at them, discouraged to note that she was now further away from the door than she had been when she started her earlier pep talk. She refused to give in yet, and so began to coach herself, a habit she'd taken up a few months ago, a coping mechanism of sorts, she supposed.

"You can do this. You're a Gryffindor. Brave and true, the sorting hat said, not cowering and crawling. So get up. Pull yourself together. What kind of Gryffindor are you if you are paranoid about a graduating class and their parents? Don't be pathetic and weak. Keep your chin up and a stiff upper lip; screw your courage to the sticking place and all that rot."

She took a few staggering breaths, then stood up. Somehow, drawing on the echo of the words that had saved her sanity all those months ago, though her own voice didn't quite do them justice, helped to bolster her.

"You are going in there," she continued, "and you are going to listen to Harry's valedictory speech. You will stay and let Ron steal the cookies off your plate, and you will let Ginny and Molly pour you endless amounts of tea and you will laugh when Arthur chastises them for this. You will do this so that everyone will see that you are just fine. Because you are. Fine, that is. You are a survivor. You need to do this for Harry and Ron and Ginny, so they will stop worrying. You can do this."

With that, she strode determinedly forward, feeling, somehow, like the old Hermione Granger. Before her will power could leave her she was at the door, a shaking hand on the doorknob, easing it open.

Upon entering, her breath left her in a soft rush. She didn't notice the enormous valentine awarded to Pansy Parkinson as _Biggest Flirt_. Her eyes did not take in the Canon's jersey Ron was wearing, beaming at having been chosen _Most Likely to Play Professional Quidditch_. She did not see the "honorary Ravenclaw" uniform presented to Vincent Crabbe as the _Biggest Sorting Hat Mix-Up_, or even the giant scissors presented to the baby-faced Ernie MacMillan for being _Most Likely to Grow More Facial Hair than Dumbledore_. A moment wasn't spared to see that, in her own absence, Ginny had accepted a plaque featuring Rita Skeeter's articles from fourth year, proclaiming Hermione Granger as _Most Likely to Be Featured in a Witch Weekly Scandal_. Instead, all that she saw was the sea of students in their graduation robes. Their black graduation robes.

"Oh, God," she gasped, giving in to her earlier urge. Before anyone in the crowd had even noticed, she had fled the castle altogether, her feet propelling her out of doors of their own volition. She stumbled down the stairs, falling to her knees on the cobblestone. Her hands grasped at her throat, as the black robe she had donned earlier suddenly seemed to be cutting off her air supply. Her fingers seemed numb as they tore futilely at the buttons, and she began to see little spots in front of her eyes in her panic. Suddenly, large hands were on hers, stilling them, and then the robe was open, shrugging off her shoulders to land in a heap on the ground, leaving her in the simple white dress she'd chosen for the occasion.

"You are such a spazz, Granger."

As she gasped for air, Draco Malfoy eased himself back onto the stairs with the grace of a cat. He was dressed not in graduation robes but instead in the grey pants and white collared shirt that were part of the Hogwarts' uniform, tie and sweater nowhere to be found. His sleeves were rolled up, as had become his habit, defiantly and sardonically displaying his muscled forearms unmarked by the Dark Lord's sign as though daring anyone to say differently. His face betrayed no expression, the habitual disinterest on it taking in no part away from the handsomeness of his features. He looks like the statue of an aristocrat, Hermione thought absently, as though he is carved from cold marble or ice.

He pulled a cigarette from the pack in the breast pocket in his shirt, and then proceeded to light it wandlessly, ignoring her completely as she pulled herself together. A kindness on his part, though none but her would note it.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked to break the silence. His reply was only to raise a perfectly arched brow. "I mean," she amended, "Why aren't you at graduation?"

"Had no desire to go."

She sighed. He was perfectly capable of going and had no desire, and yet she, who wanted to go more than anything…

Grey eyes observed her critically before he abruptly got to his feet. She flinched from force of habit, then again from pain when he gripped her wrist painfully and began to drag her around the edge of the castle.

"What do you think you are doing?"

She had intended her voice to come out in the bossy tones of old, but instead it was pitched high and breathy with apprehension. He seemed to understand this, because his grip lessened, though it was still firm as he dragged her along.

"Dumbledore made a point of telling me he'd set a mirror on the outside and charmed it so that I could see the proceedings if I wanted. Thought the old man was going batty, and told him so. The next time, I'll just tell him he can stop playing games and tell you yourself," he finished in a tone conveying his disgust at playing messenger boy for Dumbledore as he stopped before what appeared to be a foggy looking glass.

"The Great Hall," he intoned in a bored voice before sitting down and taking a long drag of his cigarette. The fog swirled, and then faded into a view of the Great Hall, like a Muggle video camera following all the action. The last award was being given out, Hermione noted. One of Percy's specialty cauldrons, given to Neville Longbottom, who was _Most Likely to End Up in St. Mungo's_. She was grateful that she hadn't been named, and mentally thanked Harry and Ron for their probable intervention. She knew that most of the class, hell, most of the Wizarding world, thought that she wasn't yet recovered and should be in a bed next to Gilderoy Lockhart. She still wasn't sure they were wrong.

Next, tiny Professor Flitwick stepped up to the podium. _He must have been chosen as Master of Ceremonies_, thought Hermione.

"Ladies and gentlemen." The squeaking voice of the professor came through as clear as if she were in the room. "Although the program indicates that it is time for Harry Potter's valedictory speech, Mister Goyle here has asked to make a short presentation."

The hulking boy shuffled to the stage, allowing Flitwick to perform a Sonorus charm so his voice would carry. His face was sombre as he looked out on the crowd, until his eyes fell to his shoes.

"I know I'm not the smartest bloke," he began, shuffling his feet. "But I've got to say something. I know a lot of you think that because I'm a Slytherin, that I wanted to be a Death Eater, but I didn't. And maybe I did, a little, at some point, but even if my parents hadn't decided I was too young, I wouldn't have got the mark. I wouldn't have got it, because I'm in love with this girl and she wouldn't have liked it. Now, I know I don't deserve her, 'cause I'm not smart or funny or handsome, but I just wanted to tell you before it is too late. Luna Lovegood, I love you and I intend to prove that I may not deserve you, but one day I will. I mean to go out, after this, and spend my life searching for the Crumple-Horned Snorkack until I find it and then I mean to ask you to marry me. Thank you."

The mirror panned the crowd as the bulky youth stepped down. The students were alternately giggling or gaping, or elbowing one another in laughter. A glimpse of Luna showed her to be gazing dreamily at Goyle while a slight blush tinged her cheeks. Then the view was of the stage again and Harry took to the podium.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," he said, choking on a laugh. "I really don't think that I can top that. Perhaps if I declared my undying passion for Professor Snape?" Laughter erupted, though the Potions Master simply glowered here. "I've been chosen to give the valedictory address, as you all know. When I began to write this speech, I told my two best friends how much I didn't want to do this. Ron's response was, typically, 'Course you don't, Harry. You're a terrible public speaker.'" There was laughter again. Harry continued, his voice becoming more serious.

"The real reason I didn't want to do it, however, was because I knew that I didn't deserve to. Valedictorian should be the person with the highest scores. And when I told her this, she told me that maybe it wasn't about whether or not I deserved to give the speech. Maybe it was about what you deserved to hear. She said to me, 'Harry, whether you chose it or not, you are the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Defeat-the-Dark-Lord. In these times after war, the Wizarding world is going to look to you not because of your heroism so much as because for them, you represent hope.'

"Now, we all know better than to tell Hermione Granger that she's wrong. And even though she can't be here today, I know somehow she already knows just how right she is. The war was a difficult time for all of us, and I know that we experienced loss as a result. But as I look out at you today, I don't see loss. I see the hope. It is often said that we are the future, and today more than ever I understand what this means. Today is about the future, about possibilities. When we leave here tomorrow, it won't be as Ravenclaws, nor as Hufflepuffs; not as Slytherins or Gryffindors. We walk out as adults, with nothing but possibilities ahead of us.

"We all paid a terrible price for this war, some of us more than others, but as I look at my graduating class, I know that though the price was terrible, I don't think that it was too high. We are, each and every one of us, granted more freedom because of it, not just freedom from fear but freedom to become, to fulfill the possibilities ahead of us, to become great in many ways. In time, we will be fine. And if I represent a little bit of hope, then you represent so much more. So as we go forward, as adults, as witches and wizards, I wish you the faith, the friendship and the hope that I have come to know in my time at Hogwarts. Thank you and congratulations to you all."

Tears had begun to stream liberally down her face now as she watched the mirror fog out. She had helped Harry with his speech, but she hadn't heard the final version. She had wanted so badly to be there, to let him know that he was right, that they would be fine, but she had failed. A white handkerchief was suddenly in her line of vision. She shook her head, stubbornly.

"Just take it, Granger," was the exasperated response. She did, wiping her eyes, thankful she'd chosen not to wear makeup.

"Thank you," she said softly. He laughed sardonically. She realized suddenly that this was the first time she'd been alone with him since the incident, the first time she'd been able to say those words, words long past due, and now she'd said them for a handkerchief.

"I never thanked you, either, for saving me, before."

"I got your letter, Granger."

"But I wanted to say it in person. It didn't sound right when I wrote it on the page. I owe you-"

"You owe me nothing." He cut her off with an unexpected fierceness. She blinked. She was startled not just by the venom in his voice but by the statement itself, and it spurred her on to ask what everyone had been asking since he'd apparated into Order Headquarters all those months ago.

"Why'd did you do it? Why did you save my life?"

Her shuffling was slow and pained, as she followed the dim light of the wand in front of her. She ached all over, the remnant of the Crucio curse and numerous physical beatings. She had been here a little more than three weeks, she thought, though she wasn't sure. When Voldemort had been defeated by Harry in the final battle, no one had expected the Death Eaters to give in right away, but no one had expected Lucius Malfoy to grab her and use her as a hostage either. He'd taken her to Malfoy Manor, where he and more than twenty other Death Eaters had hidden in the darkness below it. No one could get into the underground part without the consent of the Master of the Manor, Malfoy Sr. had informed her gleefully. He could stay there endlessly, summoning food, waiting for the Order to show a weakness. He knew they wouldn't dare destroy the Manor and those in it so long as Dumbledore knew she was alive.

Alive did not mean in good condition, however. She didn't know how she could have endured if not for her reluctant hero. Draco Malfoy had been surprised to be dragged underground, not having borne the mark himself, and he'd been the voice on which she'd grounded her sanity. Though his words may have seemed unkind, his chastising her for her weakness after the torture had kept her going. He'd forced her to be strong when she thought she had no strength left. And now he was leading her out of the tunnels.

"Hurry up, Granger. Do you want the sleeping draught to wear off and to be back at square one?"

She shook her head, and tried to speed up, only to trip and fall with a cry.

"You are pathetic, Granger," he said. She ducked her head in shame as he hauled her up, not roughly as she'd thought he might. She was more surprised when he sighed tiredly and scooped her up into his arms. The going was much faster then, though with her head pressed against his chest she could hear his heart hammering as fast as hers and she felt his fear and urgency.

They were both silent as he made his way through the tunnel. He'd extinguished the light, choosing instead to move nimbly in the dark. She idly wondered if he'd explored here as a child. Somehow she couldn't picture him as a carefree boy playing beneath the house. Could he have ever been that innocent? "We're almost at the end," he said softly, bringing her out of her idle musings. "It's just around this corner." His footsteps became more rapid and he took the corner sharply, only to skid to a halt. He swore then, and his grip around her tightened enough that she cried out. He didn't lessen it, and the fear radiating off him set her heart pounding so loudly it echoed in her ears.

"Lumos."

Lucius Malfoy's spell had several effects. Besides lighting the room with a dim glow, it revealed to Hermione the reason for the rapid halt. Not only was the head of the Malfoy family between them and the end of the tunnel, it appeared that he had caused the opening to be closed off.

"Father." The statement was calm, not betraying any emotion. He lowered her gently into a standing position before tucking her behind him, wand raised. She fought the urge to bury her face in his back and instead steeled herself to peek around to watch the exchange between father and son.

"Draco." It was like an echo, only with different words, thought Hermione. She wondered why she didn't feel afraid. It was as though she was detached from her body. Perhaps it was because she knew instinctively that her role, here at least, was inconsequential.

"Where do you think you are taking her?"

"I'm taking her to Dumbledore, Father."

"You know that isn't possible, Draco,' said the aristocratic Malfoy Sr., speaking as though to a petulant child. "If I allowed you to leave the Manor with her, everything would be over."

"Everything is over, Father. Voldemort is dead. What is left of your crusade? Less than thirty Death Eaters have to cower and hide underground. What kind of existence is that?"

"We are still alive and free. We will regain our powers and return stronger than ever."

"You're mad if you truly believe that now, Father. Look what you've become. When this war started, you assured me that I need not make a choice. Well, I'm making one now. I cannot support a group that is so cowardly they shrink in tunnels, contenting themselves with sitting in the dark torturing a defenceless child."

"She's a mudblood, Draco. She doesn't deserve your pity," Lucius spat, his mouth tightening.

"She's just a girl, Father. And I am taking her home."

"Stop this nonsense, Draco. You know as well as I do that you cannot take her out. I have closed the tunnel for good, and you cannot apparate out of here without the consent given by the bearer of the Malfoy seal."

A long silence followed. The tension in the air was heavy. Draco lowered his wand and Hermione had to blink back tears. Lucius Malfoy smirked in triumph, gesturing at her huddled figure.

"Give the mudblood here, Draco, and I'll forget your foolish outburst."

She moved to step out from behind him only to be stopped by his outstretched arm. Lucius' mouth tightened again into a frown.

"Don't be ridiculous, Draco. Stop your idiotic Gryffindor-like chivalry and give me the girl."

In response, Draco slowly shook his head.

"You know what it would take in order to remove her from this house, Draco," Lucius spoke in a tone that was both dangerous and soft. "Are you prepared for that?"

"Yes, Father. I am."

The pause seemed to stretch on forever as they both reflected back to those days. Then he laughed humourlessly, lighting another cigarette and refusing to look at her as he chose his words carefully.

"From the moment I was born, my father had plans for me, plans I accepted as my fate. It didn't matter what I wanted, and for a long time, I just assumed that it was what I wanted. I've heard the talk. I know that people say that I saved you to save myself from a term in Azkaban. That I picked a side only when I knew which one had won. But the truth is, I think from the moment I saw you on the train in first year, I knew that you were the key to my redemption. Merlin knows, I fought it then, thinking my father's choice was the right choice. But no matter how many times I called you mudblood, you wouldn't go away and I knew I was going to be presented with a choice someday. So when my father took you hostage, he only confirmed what I'd known all along. That I had to make a choice then.

"I saw the curses and hexes they threw at you, and I knew I could let the choice die with your sanity. But I wasn't ready to let it go. And when I found the sleeping draught, and more so when I stood before my father, ready to turn you over, I said to myself 'This is your last chance, Draco. It's now or never. You can defy your father and everything you've been taught to believe in or you can go on as you have before.'

"I knew what I stood to lose if I chose to abandon my heritage. I knew I might face time in Azkaban if they believed I was involved in your kidnapping. And I knew that to leave, I would have to kill him. But I couldn't live that life, not when I'd already turned my back on it inside. So I did what I had to do. Because for some reason, even if I faced a long term living in Azkaban exactly the way I had lived those weeks in hiding, I couldn't let you do the same. And even though I don't give a damn what anyone else thinks or believes, I wanted you to know that you were more than just my ticket out of there. You were my ticket out of that life."

He was looking at her intently. His marble face, usually a mask, was studying her, and she realized that he needed to know that she believed him, that she understood. She wished, suddenly, that she'd sought him out earlier. Harry, Ron and Ginny were sympathetic, patient and caring, but they could never understand what they had not lived. Perhaps what she'd needed so desperately was understanding, the same kind he was now searching for in her eyes.

"You did what you had to do," she said softly. "But that didn't make it any easier."

_His hands were shaking as he knelt by the body of his father. Lucius Malfoy lay crumpled on the ground, cold grey eyes open in surprise. He fought the urge to laugh hysterically. The threat had been clear: they would have to pry the signet ring off Lucius Malfoy's cold, dead body to get out of here. And here he was, preparing to do that very thing. If only his hands would stop shaking._

_He reached out to touch the hand, only to find his own brushed away. Hermione Granger knelt at his side, a silent yet soothing presence. Tiny white hands delicately opened the fist clenched around the wand and slid the emerald seal off the last finger of Lucius' hand. She went to slide the ring on Draco's finger, but he wrenched himself from her gentle grip._

_"I can't," he rasped. She looked at him curiously for a moment, and then reached out again. Before he could pull away, she turned his hand over, placing the ring in his palm and closing his fingers over it. He held it for a moment, still trembling as he looked at his father's face. Then she did something unexpected. She shuffled over to close Lucius' eyes before returning to kneel quietly beside Draco, her hands folded gently in her lap._

_He clutched at the ring, knowing he couldn't put it on and take on all it meant. Instead, he took her hand in his and slid the ring onto her finger. She looked up at him slowly. He looked away, reaching for the wand he'd dropped. She was still looking at him when he turned back. He stood, and then he pulled her up into his arms again. "All you have to do is will us free to leave. I can apparate both of us, but you have to want out."_

_He felt her nod against his chest, and with a soft whisper she asked him to take her to Order Headquarters. He closed his eyes and silently bid his father goodbye._

She was fingering the ring now. Too big for her small hand, she'd been wearing it around her neck since they had apparated at the old Black house. In the chaos that followed, she had not been able to return it, had not been able to do more than clutch at her saviour and beg Dumbledore not to let the Ministry take him to Azkaban. Since then, he had avoided her company, and she knew now that he had been evading this moment, trying to prevent accepting the burdens the ring represented.

"When I put that ring on, I will officially become the head of the Malfoy family. A family whose name in the Wizarding world is synonymous with evil."

"Then make it synonymous with something else."

"It's that easy, then?" he asked cynically.

"Not easy," she clarified. "But it is as simple as that, in the end. Think of it as possibilities."

She untied the leather string she'd been wearing it on, then slowly walked over to him. He looked at her with pain in his eyes, but did not wrench his hand from her grasp. She knelt in front of where he sat so that her eyes were level with his. Solemnly, she slid the ring onto his left hand. He looked away again, and she stood up to turn back to the mirror, knowing he would not want her to acknowledge his pain. She spoke softly and saw that the tables had been cleared in the Great Hall and that the students had taken off their black graduation colours and were dancing in their lively dress robes inside the castle. She stood and watched until the wafting scent of smoke drifted over to her.

"That's a filthy Muggle habit," she said absently.

"Perhaps," he conceded. "I don't much care."

She turned then, dismissing the vision in the mirror. He was standing, taking a final drag of his cigarette. He dropped it to the ground and crushed it, and she knew without indication that he was waiting to walk her inside. They strode slowly back to the castle in comfortable silence. He had shortened his long strides to match her shorter ones.

When they came to the doors of the Great Hall, he stopped.

"Coming, then?" he asked, hand extended to her.

She accepted his hand, neither marble nor ice, and let him draw her into the dance.


End file.
